


The Ones Who Walk Away...

by LilacPessimism



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Blood, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Keith being a good person, Trauma, injured keith, recovery? maybe?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-08-01 08:50:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16281425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacPessimism/pseuds/LilacPessimism
Summary: To be happy...Keith doesn't know what to expect when he crash lands on the mysterious planet of Crevne.Certainly not fresh air, fields of flowers, and colorful alien houses.Not the sound of beautiful music and the scent of delicious food.Not a race of alien people who never stop smiling, dancing, and laughing, who never stop being happy.To be happy...Not a terrible, gut-wrenching secret....is to balance pain.Not the agony that ensues.(Inspired by Ursula K LeGuin's "The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas")





	1. A Joy From The Pain of Another

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is a new fic (I know, I know, it is neither an update to one of my other fics OR the prize for the winner of the Blackbird contest, and I apologize, those will coming soon. I just got sidetracked), that's going to have 3(?) chapters. It's set season 4-ish when Keith is with the Blade, in an AU where Shiro isn't a clone. There aren't going to be any pairings, only friendship!
> 
> I don't want to spoil too much, but this fic is not going to be a fun ride for Keith. (If you've read "The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas" you might be able to guess why). But I promise that it'll have a happy ending!
> 
> Enjoy!♥

Growing up, Keith’s father taught him three things.

The first, a lesson taught on a starry night after five year old Keith came home from Kindergarten in tears after the other kids teased him for not having a mom.

“Why?” he asked his father beneath those stars, the darkness hiding the tears in his eyes. “Why’d she leave us?”

“She didn’t,” his father said softly, wrapping an arm over his son’s shoulders, squeezing tight, “because she loved us, and people who love us will always come back.”

“Always?”

Tired brown eyes met tearful violet ones. “Always.”

_People who love us will always come back._

The next lesson came in the middle of first grade on a Tuesday.

“Dad!” Keith shouted, running towards his father, backpack bouncing with each step. “Guess what?”

His father’s eyes crinkled together and he scrunched his nose up dramatically as he pretended to think. “Hmm...I don’t know. What?”

“Harry broke his arm on the monkeybars!”

The look of mock confusion dropped from his father’s face, as quick as the flip of a switch. A frown crept across his lips, the opposite of Keith’s beaming smile. “That’s not something to be happy about.”

Keith felt his own smile falter. “But he teased me about mom and said my eyes are funny.” _He deserved it._ He tried to meet his father’s gaze, pleading.

His dad shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what he did, you’re better than that.”

Keith suddenly decided that the dirt on the toe of his light-up sneakers was incredibly interesting.

“A joy from the pain of another is no joy at all.” A warm hand squeezed Keith’s shoulder, and he raised his head to meet his father’s eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Keith nodded.

A few hours later, at the grocery store, they bought a get-well card for Harry.

Keith picked the one with hippos on it.

_A joy from the pain of another is no joy at all._

He learned the third lesson at nine years old when he fell out of the backyard tree and broke his leg.

“It hurts,” he whimpered as tears streamed down his face. His father hovered over him, but he couldn’t focus on him, couldn’t latch onto anything but the pain.

“I know,” his father said. Keith’s leg shifted, and he choked on a scream. “I called the ambulance.”

Pain had tasted like iron and grass and aftershave.

“It hurts,” Keith whispered again. There was nothing else to say. Nothing else but that mantra, the pain, the pain, the pain.

“Stay strong, bud,” his dad replied. He knelt by his son’s side, and together, they waited for the sirens. “Stay strong.”

_Stay strong._

***

Keith didn’t mean to land on the planet.

By all accounts, he should have flown right past it. His current mission for the Blade was finished, and he was on his way back to the base. There was no need to stop.

And...he hadn’t stopped. Not really.

It was a stupid mistake. _A rookie mistake._ For someone at the top of their class, avoiding a piece of space debris shouldn’t have been that hard. It shouldn’t have hit him, shouldn’t have even grazed him. It certainly shouldn’t have slammed into his pod, sending him spinning. Shouldn’t have made him lose control. Shouldn’t have sent him plummeting into this planet’s atmosphere.

_Stupid._

Keith glared at the smoking wreckage, thankful, at least, that he had been adept enough to pull off an emergency landing. Judging by the mangled spacecraft, however, it wouldn’t be enough to get him back in the air, and a quick check of his comms yielded nothing but static.

He was stuck.

Perfect.

The smoke coiled into the sky, and he weighed his options as it dissipated among the clouds.

He couldn’t contact either of his teams. Voltron didn’t even know he was gone. The Blade would realize, eventually, but even if they decided to look for him, they wouldn’t search here first. Might not search here at all. With his wrecked ship, he didn’t have a way off the planet, no food, no water. He definitely wasn’t going to risk sitting around and hoping Kolivan found him in time. That only left one option.

“I guess I’m going on a hike,” he murmured to himself, scanning the land in front of him. The terrain didn’t appear to be all that bad, with grassy plains stretching in all four directions and the hint of a forest on the horizon. The temperature was comfortable, not too hot, humid, or windy, and the grass was spotted with colorful alien flowers. And, he noted with surprise as he ran through his suit’s readings of the planet, the air was breathable for humans. The breath he took as he lowered his mask was one of the freshest and sweetest he had had in a long time.

As planets went, this wasn’t the worst place to crash land.

After a few more deep breaths, Keith decided to go left, as he saw something in that direction that looked vaguely angular—a possible alien settlement. He wasn’t opposed to scavenging for food and water by himself, but if this planet was inhabited, he might be able to find some help, perhaps a communication station. If he was lucky, he might be able to forge an alliance with them. It was worth it to check.

He began to walk, choosing a brisk but comfortable pace to avoid tiring himself out. Though he was on a time crunch, speed wasn’t vital, not yet, and he couldn’t help but enjoy the clean air and picturesque environment. It reminded him a little Earth, albeit with different flora. Despite his situation, he felt almost at ease here, happy.

When was the last time he remembered feeling like this?

Certainly not while he was on Earth. Not when his father died. Not in any of the foster homes. Not at the Garrison, with the whispers and expectations. Not after Shiro disappeared.

He also couldn’t place this feeling (at least in its entirety) during his time in space. There were glimpses, sure, quick waves of joy, of peace—often arising from one of Lance’s jokes or a new cooking experiment by Hunk—by they were always fleeting, never lasted long. They were fighting in a war. There was always a new mission. Always someone to save. Someone to find. Someone who was hurt. Someone who didn’t make it. New orders. New expectations. No time for rest. It was a weight that he rarely felt lift from his shoulders.

But here, as he walked across the flower-dotted fields, breathed in the fresh air, drew close to what he could now confirm _was_ a village, he felt oddly at ease.

A smile crept across his face.

_Happy._

As he neared the alien settlement, he couldn’t help but feel an ache in his chest as he realized that his walk was over. It had been nice to clear his head for a moment, to take some time to enjoy this world.

To be happy.

_At least I still have to go back._

The thought locked the smile across his lips.

A few minutes later, or perhaps it was more, Keith wasn’t sure—his sense of time was fleeing as rapidly as his anger at crashing his ship—he reached the settlement.

The village looked like it belonged in a children’s books.

Stone paths stretched between the buildings, dotted on either side with blooming flowers. On either side of each path, triangular houses (at least, he assumed they were houses) were arrayed in neat little rows. The houses were small, but skillfully crafted with wide windows and carved doors, and they were cheerfully painted to match the nearby flowers. Warm scents akin to bread (though a bit more sweet) and soup (though surprisingly spicy) accented the air, mingling together in a way that Keith’s heightened Galran senses appreciated. Above, the faint jingle of music and laughter wove through the air.

It was as though someone had turned the textbook definition of perfect and turned it into a real place.

_Weird._

Keith glanced around, searching for the native race, but finding no one. For a moment, he allowed himself to worry, but then another bout of laughter caught his ear, and his curiosity piqued. There must have been some sort of gathering in the city center. A festival of some sort? 

He headed towards the laughter, thankful for his keen Galran hearing as he navigated through the twisted streets and quickly found himself deep in the core of what had initially seemed like a small village. If it wasn’t for his ability to pick out the direction that the strums of music and joy came from, he could have easily wandered the paths for hours without finding his destination.

Luckily, it only took a few minutes to find the source of the buoyant laughter.

Keith reminded himself to never complain about Lance brushing his teeth too loudly or the brightness of Pidge’s computer screen again. His Galran senses were more useful than he’d realized.

At least there was something about his heritage to be happy about.

He turned the final corner, the ground underneath him vibrating from the sheer volume of the music. As the sound swelled around him and he emerged at the edge of the village square, he found that he couldn’t do anything but freeze.

_Overwhelming._

Before him, thousands of aliens milled about. They were about the size of an Arusian, perhaps a few inches taller and with four arms instead of two. They all sported a short coat of fur, though their colors ranged from silver, to yellow, to blue, and everything in between. Each alien also had a short, stubby tail and ears that looked like a mix between those of a cat and an elf. They darted about, quick as squirrels, spinning and dancing and laughing. Some of them carried giant plates of food, others appeared to be engaged in a game involving sticks and a spiked ball. Their arms moved in wide motions as they conversed with each other, and Keith could see rows of sharp teeth as they tipped their heads back to laugh. In the middle of the gathering, a quartet of the aliens performed, strumming along on four almost-guitar instruments (but with fifteen strings and bells at the bottom) as a crowd twirled around them.

Keith wasn’t sure if he had even seen so much joy in one place.

He glanced around, trying to find someone who wasn’t enjoying their time, but everyone was laughing. Everyone was smiling, or dancing, or playing a game. There wasn’t a frown or a tear in sight.

His own lips twitched, and he wondered if the happiness was contagious.

“Outsider!” a small voice squeaked, and Keith surveyed the crowd in panic until something poked his knee. He jumped, emitting a small _eep!_ that he knew Lance, had he been here, would never let him live down.

“Down here!” the voice called, and he listened to it, dropping his gaze until it fell upon a cherry-red alien with a crown of flowers on its head. “Hello!” it chirped as their eyes met. “Welcome to Crevne!”

Keith blinked, startled. “Crevne?” he asked, to surprised to say anything else. He wasn’t used to such easy welcomes. Especially due to his heritage.

“Crevne!” the alien affirmed before puffing its chest out and throwing all four of its arms wide. “The happiest place in the universe!”

Did this mean that this festival _wasn’t_ a one-time thing? These aliens were always this happy?

Keith suddenly felt a little lightheaded. “Um…”

“Come see!” the alien urged, poking his knee again. “Come join! Crevne is a place of joy! All who are here are happy. The Crevnians, the outsiders, all!”

Before Keith could argue, a red hand closed around his own and dragged him into the crowd. It was all he could do to avoid stumbling into other Crevnians as they passed.

“We have dancing, music, games!” The Crevnian exclaimed. “Oh! And food! The best food, better than anything you’ve ever had!”

Keith doubted that there was anyone who could cook something more delicious than Hunk could, but he held his tongue.

The Crevnian continued. “Also! My name is Merzle!”

The former Red Paladin’s head spun at the bombardment of information and chirping, gleeful voice. “I’m sorry, I’m really not interested in—”

“Do you dance?” Merzle asked, impervious to Keith’s words.

“No, I—” he broke off again as the alien grabbed both of his arms and spun him around.

Keith had never been good at rhetorical questions.

“It’s fun!” the alien insisted as Keith stumbled to a stop, stomach churning and arms thrown out wide to keep his balance. Suddenly, Hunk’s nausea made a little more sense.

He glanced down at the Crevnian. “Yeah,” he agreed weakly, hoping that they would drop his hands. “And I would love to enjoy this later. But _first_ , do you have any communications? A transmitter maybe? I lost my team and—”

“Let’s play arlfilrp!” Merzle insisted, clearly ignoring him this time.

Keith felt his smile fade as his good mood sank and his anger from earlier began to resurface.

“I can’t,” he growled through gritted teeth, digging in his heels as the alien tried to drag him toward the spiky ball game. “I need to contact my team.”

“Later,” Merzle replied, but before they could open their mouth to insist that they partake in more festivities, a voice rang out across the center.

“Help!”

Keith felt the hair on his neck rise. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

The voice called out again, “Help!” It sounded small, weak. A child’s voice. Keith reached for his knife. “The voice calling for help.”

“Oh.” Merzle’s eyes widened in realization. “It’s just the Source.”

“Help!”

“The...Source,” Keith replied, speaking slowly in order to keep the anger creeping up his chest from spoiling the words.

Merzle nodded. “For Crevne’s joy! Would you like to see it?”

It? Was the Source some sort of crystal or magic source? Keith narrowed his eyes in confusion. He thought that he heard a child...was his mind playing tricks on him?

“What is it?” he asked cautiously. His fingers stayed wrapped around the hilt of his knife.

“You’ll see!” Merzle replied. “Just like us, you cannot know until you see! Otherwise, you ruin it.”

That was...a weird response.

Keith kept his free hand wrapped around his knife, but he agreed to follow the Crevne.

“Follow me!” Merzle waved all four of their arms, beckoning for Keith to keep up. Together, they wove through the crowd, past the food table, the game of arlfilrp, and the dancers, before stopping a few feet behind the musicians.

“Here we are!”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “There’s nothing here,” he replied. Was he missing something?

Merzle let out a heavy huff of breath similar to a human sigh. “Move your feet! You’re standing on the trapdoor!”

_Oh._

Keith felt his cheeks flush as he looked down and realized that yes, he was indeed standing on top of a trapdoor, and he hastily moved out of the way so that the cherry colored Crevnian could unlatch it.

“Come!” the alien chirped as they climbed their way into the hatch, shimmying down what Keith hoped was a ladder inside.

The former Red Paladin followed him into the hatch, thankful for his slim size that he was able to fit at all. If his shoulders had been even a little bit wider, he would not have been able to fit through the opening crafted for the small Crevnians.

The sound of breathing filled the air as the two climbed down the ladder. As they descended, the music and laughter began to fade a little bit and the sweet smell of the fresh air began to sour. Keith felt his stomach plummet.

_What are they keeping down here?_

“Here we are!” Merzle said as they dropped from the ladder into a small dimly lit chamber. Their four arms gestured excitedly again, and Keith followed their motion to a metal door and two flanking guards on the far end of the room. “The Source!”

_Help._

Keith’s blood turned to ice.

“Guards,” Merzle said with a nod, and the taller of the two, a dark green Crevnian, procured a key and ushered them forward. Keith reached for his knife again, unsure of what they were going to find, but unwilling to take any chances.

“Here it is!” Merzle exclaimed as the door swung open, pointing at the thing inside the room as it came into view.

It was worse than he could have imagined.

The moment the door opened, the sour air turned vile, ripe with the scent of blood, vomit, and excrement. Keith’s eyes watered as he stepped forward, and it took everything he had to choke on the gag clawing at his throat. Forgetting his apprehension, the hand around his knife flew up to cover his nose and breath—the closest thing to a filter that he had. The acidic taste of bile bit at his tongue, and he wondered if he was going to be sick. He opened his mouth—possibly to puke, possibly to unleash a barrage of profanities upon the Crevnian who had brought him down him—but his jaw locked as he saw it.

It.

The small form huddled in the middle of the room, fur matted with its own filth and blood. Gaunt frame and the knife-sharp outline of bone. Gnarled scars, purple bruises, an infected cut oozing pus on its right arm. Tears glistening in swollen eyes.

It.

The child.

_Help._

Before Merzle or the guards could react, Keith drew his knife, savoring the fear in their eyes as it flashed into its larger, deadlier form. “You monsters,” he growled. “What is this?”

Neither of the guards responded. Merzle opened his mouth to respond, but he paused for a moment as he did so, too slow, so Keith tried again.

“A _child,_ ” his lip curled, and he saw one of the guards flinch. Good. They deserved to be scared. “What. Is. This,” he repeated again, pointing at each of the three with his sword. “Choose your words carefully or you _will_ regret it.”

“Outsider,” Merzle squeaked, flinching as Keith shifted the sword to point at them, “you don’t understand.”

Keith scowled. “There’s a child locked down here, bleeding and in pain, and you’re all _ignoring_ them. I think that I understand more than I’d fucking like to.”

“No!” Merzle insisted, raising all four hands in surrender as they shook their head. “You don’t understand. Crevne would _die_ without it.”

_Die?_

“Choose. Your. Words,” Keith hissed softly. He took a step forward, the balde hovering only inches from the Crevnian’s chest. “Carefully.”

To their credit, Merzle didn’t flinch. “The Source,” they said quickly, “of our happiness, is _it_. It is how our planet works, you see. None of us _like_ it, but it must be. Pain, happiness, they go together. It must bear the pain so that the rest of our world can be happy, it is a balance you see. One life down here for the rest up there. Without the source, our society would wilt, die, all would suffer instead of one. Do you understand?”

Did he?

Keith shook his head. Gritted his teeth. Refused to lower his blade. “There must be another way.”

The Crevnian shook their head. “Not unless you wish us all to suffer. And surely you understand that one suffering is better than all suffering?”

_All of the children above ground, laughing as they played their games. The smiling musicians, the giddy dancers. The brightly colored houses and the beautiful flowers._

_One child. Bloody. Sick. Alone. In pain._

_One of them._

_Or all of them._

“There has to be some other way,” he insisted, the same malice in his voice, but his hand shook with the sentence, his strength wavered.

“In order to keep the joy, one must suffer,” Merzle replied. “That is how it has been for generations. The moment the Source dies, a new one must be found before the joy crumbles beyond disrepair. We have seen the fall, if only in glimpses, there is no other way.”

_No other way._

_Help._

Keith felt a lump rise in his throat, felt his stomach churn, his blood boil, before he could act (puke, attack, cry) a small part of Merzle’s explanation replayed in his mind.

_A new one must be found._

His arm shook.

_Stay strong._

“Can someone take their place?”

His heart pounded in his chest. He could taste blood in his mouth.

“No one would want to,” Merzle insisted with a shake of their head, “but I suppose that it is possible—”

Keith’s sword slipped from his fingers.

“Let me take their place.”

_A joy from the pain of another is no joy at all._

“O-outsider,” Merzle stammered. “You don’t understand. A lifetime of pain and suffering. That is already its reality, it does not know more. Does not need to know more. You do not want—”

“I understand plenty,” Keith growled. “And I know what I want. Can I take their place or not?”

The Crevnian refused to meet his eyes. “This is what you want?”

_A joy from the pain of another is no joy at all._

The blood. The vomit. The pus. Those swollen eyes. That loss of hope. That broken plea.

_Help._

Keith’s mouth felt dry, but he lifted his chin, and when spoke his voice was steady.

“Yes.”

Merzle looked up at him then, and his stomach lurched as he saw how cold the alien’s eyes has turned. Flat. Uncaring. They nodded once. The only acknowledgement to his choice before calling out: “Guards!”

Before Keith could regret his choice. Before he could cry. Before he could try to run. Before he could recognize the fear curdling in his gut. Before he could realize that he was alone, that his teams would not find him here. Before could recant his impulsive decision, the guards were upon him.

Though they were smaller than he was, they were stronger than they seemed, and quick. Before Keith could fight back, they tackled him, knocking him to the ground and ignoring his shout of pain as his head hit the floor. One straddled his chest, pinning down his wrists with one set of arms and covering his airways with the other. Keith panicked as his breath was cut off, and he kicked futilely, instincts stepping in despite the deal he had made. A yelp sounded as his foot made contact with something, but it meant nothing. A moment later, a weight settled upon his legs, pinning them as well. Seconds later, the other guard leaned over him (Merzle, he realized blearily as his thoughts began to muddle, was the one sitting on his legs) and smiled.

_Stay strong. Stay strong. Stay strong._

Keith felt hot tears spring to his eyes. 

He was _scared_.

The guard laughed.

The last thing he remembered before he lost consciousness was the voice of child, hollow and small as it echoed off the cavern walls.

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry._


	2. Stay Strong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I've been really busy with school, so I haven't been able to get chapters out for any of my fics as quickly as I'd have liked.
> 
> A few notes for this chapter:  
> Timeline-wise, this fic takes place sometime in season 4 when Keith is with the blade and in an AU where Shiro isn't a clone.  
> Additionally, this chapter has some pretty awful mentions of injuries and violence, so please read with caution.

“This is our ninth stop,” Hunk noted as he piloted Yellow towards the growing planet. “Do you think it’ll finally have the raintrell?”

From behind him, Allura sighed. He felt her hand curl over his shoulder as she leaned forward to get a better look. 

“As much as I’d like to stay optimistic,” the princess said as a small frown tugged across her lips, “Coran did tell us that the flower would be easy to find, but we have already searched eight other planets with no luck.” Her flat syllables and the yawn that followed were all that Hunk needed to note to conclude her statement.

His eyebrows pinched in concern. “Pidge and Lance are going to have to wait at least another day. It’s not going to be fun, but the spottle—”

“Spotchlue.”

“Right, spotchlue.They’re going to have to deal with the spotchlue rash for another day, and as long is it’s not fatal…” he trailed off, seeking Allura’s affirmation.

She hummed. “The spotchlue rash is not fatal, only uncomfortable. Though neither of our fellow paladins will be happy about the predicament, there is nothing we can do but wait to deal with it tomorrow.”

Hunk’s stomach twisted in sympathy. The harsh red rash—so dark that it almost matched the hue of the Red Lion—that Lance and Pidge had found across their chests, arms, and faces earlier that morning had not looked enjoyable. Judging by the way Pidge had itched her elbow so hard it bled and the pained face Lance made every time one of his rashes so much as _brushed_ another object, it probably didn’t feel all that enjoyable either.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky?” he said, nodding to the planet as Yellow began his descent. “Ninth time’s the charm right?”

“Charm?” Repeated Allura. Hunk couldn’t see her face, but he could picture the gears whirring, her eyebrows creasing, as she tried to place the human colloquialism. “I don’t understand. That is a human saying, yes? You are not referring to a piece of jewelry?”

The Yellow Paladin smiled. “Yeah, no, no jewelry.” Allura’s hand squeezed tighter around his shoulder as they entered the planet’s atmosphere. The cabin rattled violently, and Hunk couldn’t help but find himself grateful for the months of piloting that had helped cure his motion sickness.

“It basically just means that we might get lucky this time,” he continued as the shaking abated. “Usually people say it on the _third_ time, but this is the ninth planet we’ve tried today, so hence the ninth. If that makes sense?”

“Yes,” Allura agreed, though the knit of her brows that Hunk saw when he took a moment to glance in her direction suggested that the saying made about as much sense to the Altean Princess as the concept of Santa Claus or anything Lance said in Spanish. That was to say: not at all.

Hunk smiled anyway. “We have to have some sort of luck on our side. Yellow’s scans are picking up no signs of hostiles and components of a breathable atmosphere.”

Allura’s grasp on his shoulder relaxed at that information. “That _is_ good luck,” she agreed.

“Yeah.” Hunk nodded, trying his best to forget the giant shelled creatures that had tried to eat them on planet two and the acidic atmosphere on planet six that had started to eat through their helmets, forcing them to jump ship. If it hadn’t been for Allura’s quick thinking, he would likely in the stomach of one of the shelled creatures right now (their fangs had been the length of his forearm), and if he hadn’t noticed the signs of corrosion, they probably would have boiled alive in acid. The other six planets also had their fair share of hardships (to name a few: rock-sized hail, knee-deep mud, and a race of six-legged aliens who were afraid of the color pink and refused to help them). And, as much as Hunk wanted to live up to the valor and glory the Paladin role boasted, it would be nice to take a short reprieve.

“Scans are showing signs of a town,” he noted as he glanced back to his screen. “Should I land there or in a nearby field to avoid scaring the people?”

Allura’s hair brushed his cheek as she reached past him to point to something through the window. “It appears that something else already beat us to the field.”

Hunk squinted at the thing she was pointing at. It looked large. Dark. Blurry. _How good was Altean vision?_ “Is that...a ship?”

“I believe so. Broken, too, if the state of its wings are to say anything.”

“Galran?” Hunk ventured as they drew closer, the darkness of the shape solidifying into colors. Black and blue and purple.

Allura was hesitant as she responded. “I don’t know any Galran ship that looks like that, but it appears almost...familiar. Perhaps it might be best if we land near the town. The Galra aren’t Voltron’s only enemies. It would be best to avoid conflict.”

As much as Hunk wanted to argue—what if someone was hurt?—the tribulations of the day suddenly fell upon him like a real and tangible weight. He was _tired_ and his legs _ached_. Walking across that field would make things worse, and if that ship _did_ belong to an enemy...well...Hunk knew it was selfish, but he’d rather not take that chance.

Besides, he told himself as he turned Yellow towards the town, they would fly past the wreckage on the way out, they could check to see if anyone was there.

“Roger that, Princess,” he said, and then, before Allura could ask who Roger was: “Let’s see if Crevne has our cure.”

***

Every inch of Keith’s body ached.

His stomach cramped from lack of food, snarling in rage at the meager portions of tasteless mush he offered it. Dehydration chapped his lips, his hands, though he hardly noticed the dry skin beneath the taste of blood, the coat of grime. Ugly bruises and wounds clothed Keith’s body where his suit hung in tatters. Some dripped scarlet, others itched with jagged scabs, while others too pulsed angry with the red heat of infection. His hair hung limp and greasy around his face, brushing his chin. Around him, the air was ripe with the smell of iron, vomit, and excrement. Cuffs tore at his wrists, anchoring them together. His throat ached—both from shouting at the Crevnians and from the collar they had clamped around it, chaining him to a wall so that he couldn’t escape. Tears stung his eyes with every movement. His body ached with fatigue.

He’d been here for just over a month.

A month.

One.

One month, and he already felt himself breaking. Felt his resolve slipping. Every day, the darkness came and lingered a little longer in his chest. The tears tracked farther down his cheeks. He shouted fewer and fewer profanities at the ones who came to torture him.

He could see them smile, the light grow in their eyes as he grew weaker each day. As his body thinned, hungry. As the wounds they gave him forced him down again, and again, and again. As they praised his suffering.

_“It suffers,” one Crevnian had said to (what Keith assumed) was its child when they came to observe him. “It suffers so that we do not have to. The worse its pain, the greater our joy.”_

_Keith hadn’t ached as much then. He had bristled at that word._ It. _Had snarled as the older Crevnian stepped forward. Had attempted to kick it away before it could get close._

____

____

_“Fuck you.”_

_But the Crevnian, like the guards, like Merzle, had been quick. It caught Keith’s ankle before he could stop it, and it smiled at him as he tried to swat it away with his cuffed hands._

_“Watch, Irmlet,” the Crevnian said, putting uncomfortable pressure on the ankle. “Listen to the music bloom as it screams.”_

_Keith hadn’t heard music as the crack of his bone snapped through the air._

_It had taken everything in him not to scream, but he groaned as the Crevnian dropped his leg, jarring the broken ankle against the ground. Tear had sprung to his eyes as white-hot pain kept him from feeling his toes._

_The Crevnian laughed. Its child smiled._

_“I hear it!” the younger Crevnian had chirped, eyes wide. “Warm! And beautiful! And...and…”_

_“Joyful,” the parent supplied._

_The child nodded. “It feels good! Can we...can we get more?”_

_The parent glanced at Keith where he lay on the floor, curled around his damaged ankle. Their eyes met, and it had the audacity to smile. “Of course,” it said, stepping forward, “there is no limit to the Source’s pain.”_

At the time, Keith had thought the statement to be an exaggeration. They would have to stop when he got sick, when he couldn’t move, when he couldn’t feed himself. Right? They needed him. They couldn’t let him die.

Right?

Now, almost a month later, he wasn’t sure what to believe. He had thought that the Crevnians needed him alive, but the injuries piled up with no sign of healing quickly. His ankle (now healed, but showing the crooked angle of a bone not set right) had opened a floodgate for his torturers, and it had only taken days for another Crevnian to break his left arm and a third to snap all of his fingers beyond the point where they could even play at picking something up. Though they were better now (though crooked, unsteady), Keith had gone days without food and water because he couldn’t pick anything up. His own survival had come down to his own pain tolerance—an awful night that he hoped to never relive—as one of the guards had looked on with a smile. If he hadn’t fought through his own pain, he would have died for sure.

They gave him food, water, but beyond that?

The Crevnians didn’t care what happened to him.

The more he suffered, the happier they were.

Keith hated them for it.

He hated how the pain consumed him, the agony, his weakness. (Though he did not regret it. Would _never_ regret taking the place of that child. Would never regret his impulsivity, that split-second decision. _Never_ )

But even without regret, Keith still hated this planet and its people.

He hated how they went against the lesson his father had taught him those years ago in first grade when Harry fell off of the monkey bars.

_A joy from the pain of another is no joy at all._

He hated their selfishness. He hated their utilitarian values. He hated the light in their eyes every time they hurt him. Every time he cried out in pain. Every time he faltered.

_Stay strong._

He hated that none of them dared to part from their almost-utopia. He hated that they were too cowardly to face the risks of the real world (and was _he_ a coward for wishing that uncertainty upon them to spare his own pain? He didn’t know anymore).

He hated how they came back day after day, stronger as he grew weaker.

He hated how the hope bled out of him.

Hated how, with every drop of blood, every passing day, his father’s third lesson seemed more and more like a lie. A promise to a small child who didn’t know what to believe. A hollow comfort.

_People who love us will always come back._

No one was coming for him. No one even knew that he was here.

He was alone.

***

“This place is almost too perfect,” Hunk said, turning his head to consider the neat rows of triangular houses on either side of them—each crafted with perfect precision. The flowers blooming on the sides of the path spread their vibrant petals to the sun. The warm scent of something delicious—bread?—wafted through the air.

“I don’t like it,” Allura agreed as she too surveyed the houses. “This place looks as though it belongs in a child’s story.”

Hunk hummed in agreement, though he wasn’t even certain that storybooks were this _perfect_. The air was sweet and fresh. No clouds marred the greenish-blue sky. The sun beat down from above, but its rays were nothing but welcoming. The only thing he felt was missing were people to enjoy the utopia but…

“Is that music I hear?”

“Music?” Hunk repeated, closing his eyes as he tried to answer Allura’s question. For a moment, he heard nothing but silence, but then: “Yeah, I think so. Maybe a guitar? And...laughter, too.”

Allura nodded her agreement. “The sounds are coming from the left. It would be best to head towards them, would it not? If the citizens can point us towards the flower, it might very well cut our search time in half.

“Good idea,” Hunk agreed, stepping aside to the princess could lead the way. Altean hearing was clearly superior to that of a human, so they would find their way faster with Allura in the front.

As they walked, Hunk found himself wondering arbitrarily if the superior sense of hearing was due to the size of the princess’ ears or something in her alien heritage. _Did all aliens have such a good sense of hearing?_ And if the augmentation had to do with her species and not her ear size, did other aliens have it too? Did the Galra? Did Keith?

Keith.

Hunk’s stomach twisted as his thoughts strayed to the former paladin. Though the two had never been particularly close—at least not on the level of his own friendship with Lance and the close bond that the other shared with Shiro—they had gotten along well, and Hunk would be lying if he said he didn’t miss Keith’s help in the kitchen, small smiles, and sarcastic replies when he thought no one was listening. Even though the Blade checked in from time to time, it had to have been at least a month since he had appeared by Kolivan’s side during one of their updates. When questioned, the older Blade member had just brushed it off, stating that Keith was on mission and would return shortly.

Something tickled at the back of his mind. An itch that he just couldn't quite scratch.

“Should we ask about the ship?” he asked Allura as the music grew to a steady thrum, vibrating the ground beneath his feet. “You know, just in case they didn’t notice and someone is hurt…”

Allura didn’t turn back to face him as she spoke, but her voice was clear regardless. “The flower is our first concern, but if we have a moment it would not hurt to ask. If an enemy did, indeed, land here, it would be beneficial to know about it.

Hunk opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, they turned the corner and the world exploded into sound and color.

Thousands of aliens danced in the open square before them, whirling around with smiles plastered across their faces. The creatures were small, coming only a few inches past Hunk’s waist, but they packed the square like the stands of a Super Bowl game. As he watched, the brightly-colored species milled about, quicker than their size suggested. Two smaller members of the species darted past, causing Hunk to stumble back, arms shooting out to correct his balance.

“Woah,” he said softly. His gaze tried to chase after the two smaller aliens, but it lost them to the crowd. Instead, he found his eyes jumping from one thing to the next: the tables laden with so much food it made his stomach gurgle, the aliens playing music on unfamiliar instruments in the center of the square, a group of purple and yellow aliens playing a game with a spiky ball, the sheer number of arms waving in the air (as each alien had four instead of two), the wide smiles, the—

“Outsiders!”

Hunk glanced down as a cherry-red alien bounded up to them, its catlike ears bobbing comically as it walked.

“Outsiders!” it repeated with a wave. “Down here!” As though it hadn’t noticed the gaze of two paladins upon it.

“We are the Yellow and Blue Paladins of Voltron,” Allura said, stepping forward, hand extended. “And you are?”

The small alien continued towards them, ignoring the outstretched hand. “I am Merzle! And this is Crevne! Welcome! Welcome!”

“Thank you,” Hunk said slowly, unnerved for a reason that he could not explain. “We’re sorry to have intruded on you festivities. We only came to—”

“Do not worry, Paladin!” Merzle chirped. “The festival is for all who stand on Crevne! Please! Come enjoy the food, the music!”

Hunk’s stomach rumbled at the offer of food, and he glanced over at the table, where a teal Crevnian was helping itself to something that looked vaguely like chocolate cake. The smells drifting through the air were overwhelming and it _had_ been a long day—

“I apologize,” Allura interjected, “but I’m afraid that we do not have the time. We’re looking for a flower, and truly we do not wish to impede—”

“Come!” the alien insisted, interrupting for the second time. “You do not impede! Crevne is the happiest place in the universe! It is for all to enjoy!”

Hunk blinked. The perfection here was genuine?

Merzle grabbed hold of their hands. “What first? Food? Dancing? Games? Oh! I could teach you arlfilrp!”

Allura tugged her hand back, and Hunk’s eyes widened at her lack of diplomacy. After everything that had happened that day, her patience was clearly wearing thin. “We can’t,” she said, though not unkindly. 

Despite the rumbling of his stomach, Hunk pictured the awful rash that Lance and Pidge were afflicted with and found himself inclined to agree. He dipped his head. “I’m sorry. Maybe some other time. As Allura mentioned, we’re looking for a flower—”

The Crevnian interrupted again with a dramatic _humph_. “Do you not want the joy? Everyone on Crevne wants to be happy! Though the other outsider did have a similar excuse—”

Now it was Hunk’s turn to interrupt. “Other outsider?” he asked. “We saw a ship on our way in. Do you know anything about it?”

Merzle shook their head. “Nothing about the ship, only the outsider! Though I suppose it is no longer an outsider…” the alien narrowed its eyes. “You remind me of it!”

The itch in the back of his mind grew, and Hunk frowned.

“We...do?”

The alien’s red head bobbed enthusiastically. “Yes! Yes! Though the Source is much smaller, and was much angrier in the beginning—”

“Source?” Allura broke in, head tilted in confusion.

“Oh, you do remind me of it!” Merzle chirped. “It asked the same question! The Source? It said, and I told it, just as I now tell you!”

“You haven’t told us anything,” Hunk pointed out.

The itching grew.

“The source of Crevne’s joy!” the alien explained, planting all four hands on its sides as though the truth should have been obvious.

Allura’s eyebrows drew together. “There is a source? For this…” she swept her hand out at the dancing and festivity, “celebration?”

“For the joy!” Merzle corrected. “Yes! Yes! Crevne would crumble without it!”

Itching. Itching. Itching.

Hunk scanned the crowd, as that doing so would provide answers to the alien’s confusing description. “It…” he said as his gaze caught on a single Crevnian, a child, standing at the edge of the crowd. The small alien, pale blue in color, appeared to be the only one not joining in with the festivities. Hunk watched as it wrapped its arms around itself, hiding a body that was far thinner than that of the other Crevnians. “What is it?” he said softly.

Merzle glanced up, following his gaze. “That _was_ it.”

“That child?” Hunk asked. The itching grew as he processed on of Merzle’s words. _Was._

“Oh yes!” Merzle affirmed. “Cenyue is still healing. It is why she is so thin and why she has those scars. In time, Crevne will heal her, but enough time has not yet passed. The new source must suffer more.”

Hunk flinched. He hadn’t even noticed the child’s scars, and that word…

“Suffer?” Allura said cooly, the last shreds of anything even resembling diplomacy dripping away with the question.

“Yes!” Merzle said, missing or ignoring the hardness in the princess’ eyes, the curl of her fist. “The Source gives us joy! But to do so it must suffer. Pain for joy. A balance! It bears the pain so that the rest of us can be happy!”

“That child,” she said, glancing down at Merzle. “You mean to tell me that you hurt it so that you could be happy? That it suffered for you?”

The alien nodded. “Indeed! But you must understand, it is one of us or all of us! Without it, Crevne would fall, crumble. We would _all_ suffer. And the child no longer suffers! There is a new Source! One who volunteered! It chose to suffer!”

“Who,” Allura said. Not a question.

“It has no name,” Mezle insisted. “It is only the Source.”

But that wasn’t what Allura meant, and all three of them knew it.

“Who,” Allura repeated. The message clear in the grit of her teeth: if there was another child suffering…

Itching. Itching. Itching.

Something was wrong.

Hunk opened his mouth to probe the alien with a new question, but before he could speak, he saw something—or, rather _two_ things—that stopped his blood cold.

The first was a trapdoor: a section of the ground swinging open in the middle of the square next to the musicians. From it poked the pale yellow head of a new Crevnian, followed by a neck, arms, and then four hands.

For a moment, Hunk saw red, and he thought it was the light playing tricks on him. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but when he looked back, he saw that the yellow Crevnian’s hands were stained dark red, the fur matted with blood.

The yellow Crevnian joined the crowd, a smile on its face.

No one seemed to notice the blood.

No one except for him.

He started to turn back to Allura, to point out the trapdoor and the bloodstained hands, but his gaze caught on the second thing. Something far worse than the first.

A knife.

There, in the corner of the square, a group of young Crevnians giggled as they chased each other around. Their arms swung wildly as they swiped at each other with sticks and sword and knives, playing at some sort of battle game. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, and Hunk had played similar games in his own childhood, but there was something wrong about it.

One of the children shrieked in delight as another swung their knife towards them, and as the blade caught the light, Hunk felt like he was going to be sick.

The ship.

_“It appears almost...familiar.”_

The itching.

Merzle’s cryptic descriptions.

_”The other outsider did have a similar excuse…”_

_“You remind me of it!”_

The itching.

_“The Source is much smaller…”_

_“Was much angrier…”_

The itching.

_“Who.”_

The blade of familiar purple knife cutting through the air.

Blood-stained yellow hands.

_“There is a new Source!”_

Over a month without contact.

_“One who volunteered!”_

Itch. Itch. Itch.

“Who?” Allura repeated again, eyes narrow, all kindness gone.

Merzle shifted, avoided her gaze, cleared their throat.

But it was Hunk who answered.

***

Keith slumped against the wall, exhausted.

His bad ankle ached from the weight he had just placed on it—the strain from dragging himself to his feet so that he could at least face his newest torturer with some shred of composure. Warm blood leaked from his side from where the yellow Crevnian had stabbed him. Shaking fingers squeezed at the wound, desperate to stem the bleeding.

He tilted his head against the stones, closed his eyes.

The collar chafed against his neck.

 _Stay strong,_ he told himself as the tears pricked at his eyes.

 _Stay strong._ His father’s words.

 _People who love us will always come back._ A hollow promise.

Keith’s throat burned.

_I never should have left._

He never should have left Voltron for the Blade. He should have recognized his family for what it was instead of pushing it away ( _away, away_ ) like he always did, afraid to get to close.

He should have stayed, but now it was too late.

He couldn’t go back to them.

No one was coming for him.

“Fuck,” he whispered as the tears spilled down his cheeks. It was an empty word in his lonely prison.

He didn’t regret what he’d done. Didn’t regret taking the child’s place. But he regretting leaving his team. His home. His family.

He regretted leaving Pidge, with her bright eyes and mischievous grins. Pidge, with her gentle hands and gentler words, her understanding that two people could work together in perfect silence, and that it was just as comforting as conversation. Pidge, who rolled her eyes with him whenever Lance bemoaned the alien romance scene. Who came to him to ask for pointers on her close combat fighting.

He regretted leaving Lance, with his over-the-top antics and boisterous bravado. Lance, who egged him on, knowing that Keith couldn’t sit still, that he had a fire inside of him. Lance, who forced him to come to movie nights with the team and who kept the mood light when everyone needed it. Who had stood by his side when he flew the Black Lion, supporting him every step of the way.

He regretted leaving Hunk, with his warm hugs and big smiles. Hunk, who invited Keith to help him out while he was cooking, and who tried his hand at some his favorite meals. Hunk, who gave him space without needing to be asked. Who always found a warm blanket to drape over his shoulders when he fell asleep on the couch or the observation deck.

He regretted leaving Coran, with his loud stories and unlimited energy. Coran, who gave him the nickname “Number Four” and ruffled his hair. Coran, who always had a new chore or a new story on days when he didn’t want to think. Who never said anything when he caught Keith in the training room in the middle of the night but always left an extra water pouch by the door.

He regretted leaving Allura, with her elegant poise and diplomatic calm. Allura, who asked him question after question about Earth and the desert. Allura who, after wronging him, had apologized and noted that she had made a mistake. Who trusted him and would follow him into battle in a heartbeat.

He regretted leaving Shiro, with his strong words and unwavering support. Shiro, who had helped him when no one else wanted to, who had helped him get into the Garrison. Shiro, who held his hair back the one time he got the stomach flu and refused to tell the rest of the castle about it. Who was always there for him, time and time again.

Tears stung in his eyes as he thought of what he’d left. What he’d lost.

He’d lost his mother. His father. And just when he’d found a new family, he pushed that away too.

He always pushed people away.

The door to the room creaked, but he ignored it.

He didn’t want to face another torturer, another smile. He didn’t want to hear them laugh as he suffered. If it was one of the guards with food or water, he didn’t care. He wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t even sure that he was strong enough to stand again, and he refused to stoop to crawling.

Whoever opened the door gasped.

“Keith?”

He froze.

His name

Not it.

Not the Source.

But his name.

Keith.

He opened his eyes right as someone crashed into him, warm arms wrapping around his torso in a tight but not unwelcome hug.

The fresh injury in his side ached at the contact, and he couldn’t return the hug due to the cuffs shackling his hands, but he leaned into the embrace, tears running down his cheeks and heart stuttering in shock as he replied.

“Allura?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allura and Hunk to the rescue! But will rescue be as easy as it seems...?
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! If you're enjoying the fic, please do leave a kudos and comment, I would really appreciate it!  
> If you'd like to stay informed about fic updates (or if you'd just like to chat with me) follow me on tumblr @lilacpessimism ♥

**Author's Note:**

> Up next: Keith deals with the repercussions of his decision and Team Voltron make an appearance!
> 
> If you enjoyed the chapter, please leave a comment below! It would really mean a lot!♥♥♥
> 
> Also! If you'd like to chat or get updates on my fics, please follow me on tumblr @lilacpessimism


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